Playing with his food - Michael Myers x reader

"Goddammit," you muttered under your breath, elbow-deep in the rusted guts of the generator. The damn thing had been coughing like an old man with pneumonia for the last ten minutes, sparking intermittently as you twisted wires with bloody fingers. The Entity's realm didn't believe in OSHA compliance-not that it mattered when the only thing between you and a gruesome death was jury-rigged machinery and sheer spite.

Behind you, the corn stalks shifted with a dry, hollow sound that didn't match the stale breeze. You froze, fingers tightening around the screwdriver. Instincts honed by too many trials screamed at you to run, but running was what got people killed. Instead, you exhaled slowly, forcing your shoulders to relax as you pretended to focus on the wiring. Let him think you hadn't noticed. The air smelled like ozone and something darker-old leather, maybe, or the metallic tang of a knife left out in the rain.